


Eventide

by TattooedWriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-05 04:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20483054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TattooedWriter/pseuds/TattooedWriter
Summary: When Dumbledore decides Hermione will be a more effective chess piece if she's completely out of play, he sends her to an Order safehouse on the Canadian coast. The opportunity to research and strategize appeals to her, but the partner Dumbledore assigns....does not.Based (LOOSELY) on the Canadian First Nations tale "The Boy of the Red Twilight Sky." A link to the tale can be found in the AN at the beginning of the first chapter.





	Eventide

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.worldoftales.com/Native_American_folktales/Native_American_Folktale_58.html

Salt spray danced across Hermione’s face to the rhythm of the waves crashing against rocky shore below. She brushed back a stray curl and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes against the golden-red glow of the setting sun.

The distant cry of sea birds brought her out of her reverie shortly before the crack of Apparation echoed across the beach. With a sigh, she turned toward the small bungalow, knowing that she would soon be meeting her partner for the newest Order mission. Why she was shipped to a safe house on the Canadian coast was still beyond her, but despite the misgivings she’d developed about a certain twinkling war general, she knew she would at least still be able to serve the war effort.

She turned back toward the house, stepping through the screened porch and hanging her jacket near the door before crossing into the kitchen. Before she could turn a voice rang out through the room, causing an involuntary tensing of her shoulders and a stray crackle of magic to arc through her hair.

“Greetings, Granger.”

Of course. Trust Dumbledore to force her into close quarters with the one Order member she would rather see shipped off to Greenland.

“Hello, Malfoy. I see you found the house easily enough. Any trouble with the Portkeys?” _ Maybe if I make polite small talk he’ll get bored, go upstairs, and I can have a cuppa in peace. _

No luck. Draco casually dropped onto the wooden bench in the breakfast nook, looking far too aristocratic and graceful for the rustic styling of the room.

“So, Granger. Ready for months of undercover research? Must be right up your alley, getting to hide in libraries for months on end.”

She gritted her teeth. “Thank you, Malfoy, for completely invalidating the work I have been and will be doing for the Order. And what, exactly, will you be doing while I ‘hide’?” She nearly spat the words through clenched teeth, making air quotes before angrily jabbing her wand at the kettle on the hob.

Malfoy sniffed, a grimace twisting one corner of his mouth. “Apparently I need to be sufficiently hidden for our mission, so I will be working as a Muggle,” at that he fully flinched, “dock worker.”

Hermione froze with one hand reaching for a mug, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter before she turned to face Draco and burst into giggles at the affronted look on his delicate features.

“A dock worker? Beanie caps and dead fish and manual labour?”

Draco crossed his arms, huffing indignantly. “And I suppose you think you would be better equipped in such a situation?”

Hermione shrugged. “I did live as a Muggle the first twelve years of my life, not to mention summers and hols. I don’t have much experience with manual labour but I think I would pass as a Muggle a lot more seamlessly than you would.”

Malfoy inclined his head toward the kettle and mugs on the sparse counter. “Are you nearly done, Granger, or will the tea be cold by the time it’s steeped?”

“Shut it, Malfoy. I don’t see you doing anything to assist. Afraid to dirty your precious pureblood hands, or are you saving your energy to impress the other dockworkers?”

Draco muttered something under his breath and stalked out of the room. Moments later, Hermione huffed as a slammed bedroom door made the windows rattle. 

_ Serves him right if he’s going to pout and flounce like a spoiled child. At least now I don’t have to share the biscuits Minerva sent. _

* * *

The next morning saw Hermione awaken early, picking her way carefully to the beachfront to drink her coffee and watch the sunrise. As she stared across to the horizonat the copper rays shooting up to pierce the waning twilight, she heard movement behind her.

“Why in Merlin’s name are you up before the sun, Granger? Afraid you’ll run out of time to read every book in the Canadian library system?”

She ignored him, sipping from her oversized mug and watching as a bird dove among the whitecaps.

He sighed, settling in next to her on the dune and scrunching his toes into the chilly sand. “I know you aren’t thrilled that I’m here with you. It wasn’t my first choice of assignments either. Weasel’s head almost exploded when McGonagall announced the assignment. Potty, of all people, held him back.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You do realise we are adults—fighting a war—in a safehouse on an undercover mission. I think we can at least dispense with the juvenile names.”

Draco smirked. “Where’s the fun in that, Granger? You say we’re adults fighting a war, but a year ago we were still students running around a boarding school. Why not cling to our youth in the face of danger?”

“What danger? Fish scales on your precious clothes? Might actually break a nail?”

Malfoy frowned, his expression darkening instantly. “So that’s what happens when I try to extend an olive branch. I see you still share your simpleminded friends’ opinions. I’ll be sure to stay out of your way as much as possible while I’m here, and I’ll write Severus to request a transfer. Enjoy your coffee.”

Before she could speak he was trudging back across the sand, shoulders hunched inward against the breeze whipping across the water. Hermione frowned into her mug. _ Since when is Malfoy so sensitive? This is going to be a long mission. _

* * *

The rusty red wagon she’d purchased at a nearby second-hand shop squeaked noisily as she rolled it down the path to her house, regretting the amount of groceries she’d squeezed into the space around a mountain of library books. “The bananas will likely be mush by the time I get home. The one time I didn’t pay attention to a spell that could help. Molly would know but it’s not worth risking contact for the sake of bruised fruit…” She continued to mutter to herself as she walked toward her porch, noticing the shadowed figure of her housemate stiffen as he saw her before darting inside, the screen door slamming so hard it bounced open again.

_ Still pissy with me, I see. Time for my own olive branch. _

She carefully wheeled the wagon up the steps and into the kitchen, unloading the groceries across the table and counters before moving the books into the space she’d designated as a study and lab. Stacking her newest acquisitions behind the ones she was currently reading, she made a mental note to contact Minerva’s brother, Robert, through Muggle post to request some additional materials before returning to the kitchen to start lunch.

  



End file.
